


Breaking Down

by Cerillen



Category: POE Edgar Allan - Works, The Cask of Amontillado - Edgar Allan Poe
Genre: All of those terrible things that did not exist in the original story, Bad Parenting, Dark, Gen, It turned into something more, Murder, Spooky, This was once a narrative essay, until now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerillen/pseuds/Cerillen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montresor has come to visit his friend, Fortunato. But Fortunato makes a mistake and Montresor begins plotting his revenge for the slight.</p><p>Or</p><p>You know how this all ends, but how about a glimpse at how it started?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Down

A loud clap of thunder boomed from outside, illuminating the large window behind my friend’s desk. It was quite dramatic in a way that remained completely unnecessary given the current situation.

“My, what a terrible storm for such a pleasant afternoon. I’m glad that you came when you did, Montresor. One should not be caught out in the rain when they should be spending time with friends.”

Yes, completely unnecessary.

I smiled at Fortunato as he spoke and nodded in agreement when he stopped. I gestured with my glass to him and the roaring fire beside us.

“Indeed. I would much rather be in here with you than be stuck in the middle of a storm by myself.” I replied with a laugh.

Fortunato also laughed in agreement before continuing the conversation from where we left off.

A wine connoisseur with a constant smile on his face and a strange story on his lips, Fortunato was rarely angry and even when he was it didn’t last for very long. I enjoyed his company just as many others did, but unlike them I had the privilege of actually calling him my friend. How exactly that came about I cannot quite recall, though I know it had something to do with a rather blurry night at a shady establishment nearby and our differing opinions on whether one should write with their left or right hands. Regardless of how our friendship started, it was quite pleasant and gave me a sense of contentment that I had not experienced in years. Fortunato was an interesting man and I enjoyed having conversations with him. He also preferred having someone around to drink his wine with him and I was certainly not going to complain about that.

 “Ah!” Fortunato exclaimed without warning. “Have you heard of the incident that occurred not too far from here?”

I blinked in surprise from the question and the unexpected shout that had accompanied it.

“There was an incident? Of what kind?” I asked, genuinely curious. Fortunato was practically falling out of his seat with excitement and, although his enthusiasm wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, I wanted to know what was making him so restless. He seemed more than happy to tell me as well.

“A murder!”

I jumped at his excited shout and looked at him with alarm. “A what?”

Fortunato stood from his chair, likely too excited to simply sit still anymore, and held his arms out in a way that reminded me of a performer who had just completed a grand display.

“A murder!” He repeated. “I heard from my wife who heard from our doctor that there had been a murder nearby!”

“Your doctor?” I questioned. “Why on earth was she conversing with him? You said you had visited him not too long ago, did you not?”

Fortunato flinched at my question and looked at me with guilty eyes before darting over to the bottle of wine on his desk, refilling his glass as he spoke.

“Ah, yes, well. My wife was simply curious about something that she had heard recently and went to see him on a personal visit.” He spoke quickly before taking a large drink from his glass. “But that is of no importance right now.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He returned to his seat and looked at me with excitement in his eyes. I smiled despite my annoyance from him dodging my question.

“Well, what is then?” I asked, taking a sip from my glass. Fortunato grinned and repeated his previous gesture, though this time he spilled a small amount of wine onto his carpet. I do not believe he noticed.

“Why, the murder of course! What could be more important than that?”

“Alright, what do you know about it then?” Fortunato’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he began his story.

“The man was killed by an unknown assailant. He was not very rich and nothing had been stolen or seemingly touched in his house. He was found in his study with a-“ He stopped suddenly, looking a little uncomfortable before smiling apologetically. “Ah, forgive me my friend. It appears that I lost myself in my own excitement.”

My brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well,” Fortunato shifted slightly in his seat. “I had just forgotten that you are a man with more delicate sensibilities than myself. I doubt that you would really want to hear about the details of a murder.”

He said this with a smile. An honest smile that showed how much he truly believed what he had just said. I wanted to break that smile. In that moment I felt a rage come over me. I felt the very same rage that had consumed as a child and suddenly, I wanted to strangle the man in front of me.

“Delicate?” I questioned, my voice dangerously tight. Fortunato continued to smile, nodding his head in confirmation.

“Yes, you are a man with delicate sensibilities and I should not subject you to the grotesque details of something as heinous as this.”

“How dare you…” Fortunato blinked, the smile on his face dissipating slightly in confusion. He flinched backwards as I stood from my seat and threw my glass to the floor with a deafening shatter. “How dare you say such a thing! I am not delicate!”

“Montresor?”

“I have never been delicate! I am not a delicate man! I have worked hard to gain my title!” Years of working horrible jobs in the underworld until I was finally able to steal the title from another. “I survived in the wilderness on my own for years!” Left alone in the woods with nothing but a day’s worth of rations, a gun with no bullets, and the fresh blood of my now deceased father to help me through it. “I have lived on my own for almost my entire life!” Crying myself to sleep at night as I mourned the loss of my mother by myself. “I refuse to be called delicate! I am not weak!”

I gasped for breath as I slowly started to recover from my tirade. Fortunato was still sitting in his seat, looking alarmed and confused. I still wanted to strangle him. I turned away with a huff and started to leave. I was halfway to the front door when Fortunato seemed to recover.

“Wait, Montresor!” He ran over to me. He looked ashamed as he stopped in front of me. “Please do not leave. You are a good friend of mine and I would hate to have an argument and not end it on good terms. I apologize for thinking that you were delicate, it seems that I have been fooled by your appearance. Please forgive me for my folly.”

He meant what he said. I could see it in his eyes, in the way that he spoke to me. He truly hadn’t meant to offend me. I sighed. Still…

“Very well. I will forgive you for your transgressions. However, I hope this does not happen again. I will not be as forgiving next time.” I said with a smile that seemed to put him at ease.

“Of course!” He exclaimed with a grin. “I would expect nothing less from the great Montresor!”

We laughed together and returned to his study, ignoring the broken glass in favor of discussing the murder he had been so excited to speculate upon.

Quite a few hours later, I left Fortunato’s home and started the relatively short trek to my own residence. The rain had stopped not long after our argument but the damp from the storm remained. It was chilly, now that night had fallen. The city was left with a heavy feeling over it, like being covered by a wet blanket when you were trying to get dry. It was stifling.

I returned home with a heavy cotton feeling over my mind. My steward greeted me, probably having waited for me to return after everyone else went to sleep. He took my coat and I informed him that I would be in my study for the rest of the night and that I did not want to be disturbed. He nodded his assent and left, supposedly to tell the other servants the news.

I walked to my study, the cotton still weighing heavily down on me. When I closed the door behind me, I took a moment to try to clear the fog. I had barely started when a fire burned it away in an instant. I lost my self completely as I screamed and ranted and destroyed everything I could get my hands on. I let my rage consume me as I relived memories that I had been trying to forget for years.

Living happily with my mother until she was killed by bandits. Dying to protect me because I was too weak to protect myself. My father raising me afterwards, blaming me for her death. When he finally starts to care for me again he is killed by a pack of wolves while trying to teach me how to hunt. The wolves kill him but ignore me because I am too small and weak to be of any use to them, even for food. I live in the forest for a few years until I am found and taken to a boy’s boarding house. I am raised by cruel nuns who do nothing to stop the harsh bullying done by the larger and stronger boys in the house. I make a single friend who is as weak as myself, but lose him after he is attacked by the bullies who had been hurting him and myself for years. I ignore their protests and claims that they had never meant to kill him. I revel in my revenge as I make everyone think that someone else killed all three of them. I promise myself that I will never be weak again.

As the rage slowly dissipates I feel something strange but familiar bubble up in my chest. It slowly builds until it finally bursts and I start to laugh at the feeling. I laugh and laugh and laugh because I really can’t help myself. And when the laughter ends, I smile because I have an idea that is even better than the first one. This idea is far more intricate and satisfying than the first one ever could be.

I will have revenge, just as I did back then. I will have my revenge and it will cause far more pain than the first time did.

I will not just kill him.

I will do something far worse.

And he will realize just how indelicate I am.

He was realize that I am as strong as him, if not stronger.

He will realize the truth.

“I am not weak.”


End file.
